First Appeared in Japanophile, Vol. 24, No. 1, 2000.

We sit and discusscomplex viscosity valuesand loss tangent rangesthrowing in relaxation modulusfor good measure,but we end up at ratios,slicing the data ever thinner,until I fog overand remember that todayis the first day of summer,and the birds, bathing in the sunplay like childrenfinally freedfrom their winter bondage.

This morningover the Parka Magritte skyis hung.Several birdsgather in an old oakto discuss this,twittering thoughtsin surprise.Their conclusionsfly off at the approachof a black labjoyously frolickingin imagined freedom.

In a Jovian momentLuna paused her wanderings and sat patiently above the treesthat stare down on the street.You know they are speaking, wantvery much to listen in on their conversation, butthe birds are busy singingtheir evening songs, and payneither moon nor planetthe attention that they are due.Soon enough Luna recommencesher nightly trek across the sky,while Jupiter stands stilla moment longer, enjoyinghis starring rolein this nights heavenly show.

Leaving the fieldsof the countrysidefor the city, it is the birdsthat tell you whenthe invisible boundaryhas been crossed.There are usually signsalong the roadsbolted to steel polesbut the birds know better.In the country, birdssing long arias to the day,to cornstalks makingthe slow green to gold transition,of a cat chasing a field mouseamong the fruit burdened treesof the late-summer orchard.Crossing to the urban worldtheir songs grow shortera kirtan with a squirrelcut off by a car horn,the briefest prayerto the morning suna tentative greeting to a dog or cat sleepingon a sidewalk.We would do wellto listen to birds.